“So shall I, as long as we stay at Mrs. Mooney’s.
I wish we were in a better place.”

“I must go down and tell her she needn’t
expect Travis back. Poor chap, I pity him!”

Travis was never more seen in Mrs. Mooney’s
establishment. He was owing that lady for a fortnight’s
rent of his room, which prevented her feeling much
compassion for him. The room was soon after let
to a more creditable tenant who proved a less troublesome
neighbor than his predecessor.

CHAPTER XXIV

DICK RECEIVES A LETTER

It was about a week after Dick’s recovery of
his bank-book, that Fosdick brought home with him
in the evening a copy of the “Daily Sun.”

“Would you like to see your name in print, Dick?”
he asked.

“Yes,” said Dick, who was busy at the
wash-stand, endeavoring to efface the marks which
his day’s work had left upon his hands.
“They haven’t put me up for mayor, have
they? ’Cause if they have, I shan’t
accept. It would interfere too much with my private
business.”

“No,” said Fosdick, “they haven’t
put you up for office yet, though that may happen
sometime. But if you want to see your name in
print, here it is.”

Dick was rather incredulous, but, having dried his
hands on the towel, took the paper, and following
the directions of Fosdick’s finger, observed
in the list of advertised letters the name of “RaggedDick.”

“By gracious, so it is,” said he.
“Do you s’pose it means me?”

“I don’t know of any other Ragged Dick,—­do
you?”

“No,” said Dick, reflectively; “it
must be me. But I don’t know of anybody
that would be likely to write to me.”

“Perhaps it is Frank Whitney,” suggested
Fosdick, after a little reflection. “Didn’t
he promise to write to you?”

“Yes,” said Dick, “and he wanted
me to write to him.”

“Where is he now?”

“He was going to a boarding-school in Connecticut,
he said. The name of the town was Barnton.”

“Very likely the letter is from him.”

“I hope it is. Frank was a tip-top boy,
and he was the first that made me ashamed of bein’
so ignorant and dirty.”

“You had better go to the post-office to-morrow
morning, and ask for the letter.”

“P’r’aps they won’t give it
to me.”

“Suppose you wear the old clothes you used to
a year ago, when Frank first saw you? They won’t
have any doubt of your being Ragged Dick then.”

“I guess I will. I’ll be sort of
ashamed to be seen in ’em though,” said
Dick, who had considerable more pride in a neat personal
appearance than when we were first introduced to him.